


Connections

by SaraWinters



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraWinters/pseuds/SaraWinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Harry/Hermione story told through a series of drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shades

Brown.

There was nothing extraordinary about the color on its surface. But then, one sometimes had to look deeper to find true beauty. There were shades of amber, mahogany, sometimes the smallest touch of honey that shone through when the light hit her eyes in a certain way, especially when she was smiling.

He wasn't supposed to notice these things. Was, in fact, supposed to be one of her surrogate family. Sometimes he did feel that. A brotherly protective instinct. Annoyance with her nagging. The kind of silent communication that came from years of learning about the world together. Then there was something else. Something deeper. Something he didn't want to name, though he suspected he knew the strange feeling differed from what he'd felt before in a way that truly mattered.

He wouldn't think about that now. He would just focus on her eyes. And the warmth that spread through his chest the last time he'd looked into them.


	2. Touch

Her hand brushed his. It was the smallest of touches, but it was enough to make his heartbeat speed up. She hadn't noticed and for that he was glad. He wanted the first time she was aware of him this way to be something he planned. He wanted—no, he _needed_ to see her expression change, to hear her breath catch, to see the first hint of blush on her cheeks before she buried herself in her book again, intent to fight what was happening until she had time to process it.

Slowly, Harry edged his hand across the table and brushed hers again. The heat from her skin lingered after he pulled his fingers away. The library suddenly felt much too small, the intimacy too much. He wondered if his emotions were written all over his face.

It was the same when they hugged. He always felt her embrace long after the release, when the last thing on his mind should have been the slight brush of her fingers against the hair on the back of his neck and the lingering scent of her perfume. He wasn't prone to blushing after these things, but lately he was fighting another reaction.

His fingers itched the close the distance across the table again. Hermione looked up then and smiled briefly before going back to her homework.


	3. Tears

He never knew what to do at these moments. When she fell apart. When her despair was so overwhelming he could feel her heartbreak as if it were his own. instinct took over. When she ran, he followed. When she cried, it was on his shoulder. When she swore he'd never hurt her again, Harry nodded, though he believed it as much as he had the last time.

There was a pattern with them. The arguments. The silence. The separation that divided them and forced their friend to choose. Harry was done choosing. The brother in him ached when she was in pain, but somewhere in another part of himself, anger took seed. There was more to caring for her than simply being there. But for now, being there was enough.

His arms tightened around Hermione as her sobs reduced to hiccups and then soft sighs as she calmed. He would defend her later, he had to. As much as it would pain him to take a stance, he would. Whatever came after would be worth it, if he never had to see her cry again.


	4. Butterflies

As Hermione's laughter faded, she looked over at Harry; her face warmed. The sound of their mingled joy was the sweetest music, notes so perfect every movement around them seemed to pause. Brown eyes met green. She looked away, suddenly unsure, overcome. Her hand brushed his under the table and she pulled back, smiling shyly as time resumed.

It was new, this lightness of heart. The flutter in her stomach came at the oddest of times: when she was worrying over his homework, arguing with him over some triviality, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. There was something building here. Something that made her want to blurt a million questions while a voice inside her screamed she already knew the answers. She knew and she wanted it and she could rationalize the pros and cons and the possibilities later. For now, all she had to do was trust and feel and everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

When she felt the butterfly-soft touch of his hand against hers under the table again, she welcomed it. He smiled back.


	5. Quiet

They go to the library to study. She studies the way his hand in hers always feels secure and comforting. He studies the way she seems to grow less nervous as time goes on, leaning closer to him; the books are forgotten.

They are a study in contrasts. Hermione is pedantic and serious, the voice of reason. Harry is spontaneous and easily distracted, drawn to his next great adventure as he fights against an outside force greater than any he can comprehend. He longs to appreciate anything that is happening—between them and the force that seems to throw his life into chaos the few times he has felt some semblance of normal.

There is no longer a hope for normal. Just calm before the inevitable begins again. Whether the neverending storm will rise from the dark force outside or the questions those close to them will raise remains to be seen. It will happen. As they will happen.

She smiles. There is happiness at this new discovery and questions, one breath away from whispering their doubt into the delicate hope budding between them. Hermione opens her mouth to speak. Harry put a finger to her lips to stop her. He brushes her hair back behind her ear and leans closer. The time for questions will come later. For now, all they need is quiet.


	6. Secret

Their lips meet. As with everything between them, it is tentative at first before evolving. Gentle becomes insistent, curious becomes ravenous, shy gives way to consuming fire. Her mouth parts for his. His hands roam; they are pushed away before being clasped and then welcomed as events progress.

There is a long moment after they are interrupted before they are finally able to pull themselves apart. Embarrassed, they leave the library hand in hand. Their joined hands drop when they walk past a group in the hall.

Without a word, they are in agreement. A secret, the most recent of many they share. At least, until they determine just how far this will go. They walk to the seventh floor in silence, later joined by several classmates. They part ways as Hermione remembers she has forgotten something in the library. She heads around the seventh floor, in the direction of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Minutes later, Harry excuses himself from the common room; he runs through the hall until he reaches his destination.

By the time they leave the Room of Requirement, neither nurtures even the smallest seed of doubt.


	7. Harmony

"You know we have to tell them sometime, right?"

_Who?_ Hermione thought. _Ron? Ginny? All our friends? Rita Skeeter?_

"I don't know what purpose that would serve," she said after a pause. Her eyes dropped from his. His fingers curled around hers as he felt her pulling away. "We don't need to do anything half as formal as an announcement and besides that, I don't like the idea of encouraging people to talk about—"

"Hey, Hermione." Harry grazed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She leaned into his touch before looking up again. "You don't have to get worked up about it. I just think our friends would like to hear it from us instead of walking up on us in the hall one day."

In spite of the tightness in her stomach that comment inspired, Hermione smiled. "I think the threat of a week's detentions taught us all we need to know about public displays." Slowly, her smile dropped.

She'd known they'd have to acknowledge reality at some point, but she hadn't expected it to cloud over their idyllic discovery before _they_ fully became _we_. Or had they already been a couple for a while now? A yin and yang who were at once so different but united in just the right way to create harmony. As their eyes met again and he pulled her close, she knew that sharing this with their friends was no longer a question of _if_, but _when_ and _how_.

Her doubts were long gone, lost somewhere between the first time they held hands and when she privately acknowledged that personal boundaries were meant to be broken. But with their secret on the verge of becoming public, she feared they only had so much time before jealousy became the monster they could not conquer. Chosen family or no, tender hearts and even more fragile bonds were going to be broken—and then mended—if they were to exist in peace.


	8. Tandem

"Why? What do you mean, why?" Harry asked. He shrugged and a smile the likes of which Ron had never seen from Harry brightened his features. "It just...happened."  


* * *

  
Hermione beamed at Ginny. "He made the first move and I was so surpised, but then...I wasn't, you know?" No, not surprised. Almost relieved that it happened so naturally. No drama. Just a simple change that felt right from the first moment. "We came together and we just..." She smiled, a perfect mirror of Harry's expression seven floors up.  


* * *

  
"I think I've always had a limited impression of her," Harry continued, not noticed Ron's dark expression. "I was wrong. I never knew she could be so warm or relaxed. And she can be really funny if you catch her in the right mood. And I figured out a way to unglue her from those books," he said; he followed the statement with a secretive grin that made Ron's stomach lurch.  


* * *

  
"I wanted you to know first," Hermione said. "Because you're one of my closest friends and after all the time you've been telling me to give up on people who weren't right for me, I finally decided to take your advice," Hermione whispered. She smiled. "You know it's really..."  


* * *

  
"The best thing that could've happened," Harry said.  


* * *

  
In spite of their friends' enthusiasm, neither confidante felt that sentiment. There was a level of resentment growing. From one, there was a desire to recapture an old spark that had never quite matured into a lasting flame and the feeling that he would never measure up to the heroes that had captured her heart. And from the other, the feeling sprang from the knowledge that childhood fantasies and long-gone hero worship stood very little chance in the shadow of the girl who'd never looked at him as a savior.

Both friends smiled. Neither could bring themselves to mean it.


	9. Jealousy

He tried to bury it. It washed over him, white hot and burning every good, pure emotion in its path. His blood filled with bright green acid, poisoning thoughts of all that he wanted, until he saw nothing but missed opportunities and the friend who had stolen everything. In the back of his mind, he knew that they'd done nothing wrong, but rational thinking had no place here. There was only a slow-building rage. A certainty that things could be different, better, if he were the one born to be envied. And the niggling doubt that they could continue as they were.

That small, rational voice choked on thick green bile before slinking off. It was replaced by a red-eyed devil, bent on destruction and planting seeds of mistrust. She'd met this devil before, embraced it in less proud days, but never before had she felt the need to abandon herself to its machinations so completely. She could not, she would not let herself become one of those girls. Who always craved the best and settled for the second or third tier prize. She would not let _her_ win. She deserved him. She'd cried and begged and nearly sacrificed her life and he'd almost given his to save it. That act awaited recognition of the most elemental type. She was the hero's reward. She refused to accept anything less.


	10. The Chosen One

He'd held his tongue long enough. She was so...light today. Giggling at things that weren't funny. Smiling off into space in the middle of class. That grin at _him_ across the table at lunch sent an ugly pain through Ron's chest. By day's end, he was on edge. He knew why. But, of course, he could never say it. There was no reason to give voice to the feelings that had held them in limbo for longer than either wanted to admit. The final straw came when Hermione spoke what had to be her third 'we' sentence in five minutes.

"Give it up already."

Hermione stopped in midsentence. Ron watched the joy drain from her face as she turned to him. "Excuse me?"

"You've been babbling for ten minutes." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Either get to the point or stop talking already."

As Hermione's face clouded over, Dean, Parvati and Lavender took their leave.

"Do you have a problem?"

With her? Always. Problem or not, there was always _something_ between them, but getting her to acknowledge it would take the kind of finesse Ron had never possessed. He preferred different, easier methods of getting Hermione's attention.

"I don't even want to get into it." As he knew it might, his nonanswer riled her even more. "You're just so..."

"I'm what?" Hermione's voice rose on the second word in a screech that made Ron flinch. She punched him in the shoulder, frowning when he didn't turn. "I'm stubborn, a pain in your arse, smart enough to do your homework, but not to understand Quidditch?" Her rant stopped when he mumbled something. "What?"

"You should've chosen me...for once."

He felt her withdraw.  


* * *

The broken spirit behind that quiet whisper unnerved her and she took a step back; the fight in Hermione died along with any quick-witted response she might have employed in the past. This was it. The quiet admission that she hadn't been alone in their fruitless dance.

It wasn't enough and had come too late. She'd already chosen. He'd never given her another option.


	11. Comfort

There is solace in his arms. Though she hasn't told him the source of her grief, he knows what she isn't saying. He knows there is only one person who can cut her this deep, and the knowledge is heady. That level of pain is borne from some deeper emotion they had yet to develop between them. Their new connection is fragile still; Harry hadn't quite gained the ability to evoke feeling from the deepest part of her soul; it would come with time.

"Hermione, I'm going to—"

She silences him with a kiss. Her lips tremble. The bitter, salty tang of tears coats her lips and then his as she takes what he offers. Silence. Acceptance. A righting of all the wrongs that had brought her to this place with him.

When her hand drifts to his and her lips part to whisper, he is at first stunned, then understanding, then overwhelmed. He doesn't know if either of them are ready. At the moment, he doesn't care.


	12. Tainted Love

The first time is awkward. She cries and maybe not for all the right reasons. Perhaps because this—even this—cannot give her heart to him the way she once dreamed of giving it to someone else. Because something she knew should be beautiful and memorable would always be tainted with thoughts of someone who did not deserve her consideration. It is awkward because Harry knows her secrets, knows her heart and gave his without hesitation though he knew reciprocation would take time they might not have. She vows to give her heart to him fully, when she can. For all he'd suffered and all she knew could be, he deserved that much.

The second time is for them.


	13. Impasse

There were a number of things Harry had considered constants over the past several years. The need to assure himself he was safe. The nightmares that plagued him, changing with the circumstances in his life. And family, the one he had forged for himself as they fought and cried and perservered together. However strange the circumstance, there was comfort in familiarity.

Today, he felt no such comfort.

There was no satisfaction in this, reaping pain for pain, drawing blood for tears. But Harry couldn't stop himself. Not until Ron cried the way Hermione had. Until he was no longer able to fight, giving himself over to the anger that far outweighed his own. Until what had been between them was no longer in question. She'd made a choice and now Harry had made his.

There was some regret, of course. There would be enough what ifs to keep him wondering for years to come. But, for now, there was only the regret that this part of his family was dead. Of all the future nightmares he'd envisioned, losing his brother had been the furthest from his mind.


	14. Loyalty

"So, that's it for you too, then?" Hermione crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She took a step back. She needed something to do with her hands. A Stinging Hex at Ginny's feet probably wouldn't be the best option there.

"Well, what do you expect?" Ginny asked. Her voice was cool, even. A smooth change from the scream when she'd entered the room. As if it were Hermione's fault that Ron was in the Hospital Wing and he and Harry both had detention until Professor McGonagall grew tired of keeping them in the same room for hours on end. It was bad enough they had to be forcibly separated into different dorms. Harry didn't mind sleeping in George's old bed.

"I expected both of you to be mature enough to handle this."

Ginny snorted. The effect was inelegant, arrogant. "Right. You knew exactly what you were doing when you set them against each other."

"I...what?"

Ginny's expression became smug satisfaction. She crossed her arms. "It wasn't enough to treat Ron like he was never good enough for you, but to rub it in his face that you're snogging his best friend every chance you get—"

"I never did anything of the sort!" Hermione felt something squeeze around her heart. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Just like you never told me I should get over him. Even...even after I broke up with Michael." Ginny's voice had dropped to a whisper. Her eyes narrowed. "I can't even remember how many times you told me I had no hope with Harry. I thought you were my friend. I thought..."

Hermione stopped listening as Ginny droned on, harping on every slight—real and imagined—that Hermione had committed by daring to love Harry. Ginny left after a few moments and Hermione sat on her bed. The voice that had been whispering in her mind suddenly became a thundering shout. She'd lost two of her closest friends. Would that price, and numerous others she'd be asked to pay in time, ultimately prove worth it?


	15. The Offensive

Hermione thought she knew the answer to her query before she opened her mouth, but she had to ask. "How was practice?"

Harry frowned and closed his eyes. He leaned onto her shoulder when she put her arms around him. They sank onto the bed together.

"That bad?"

"They're not speaking to me or listening to me at all."

It was Hermione's turn to frown. It had been three weeks. Surely they wouldn't keep this going forever.

"I don't even know what to do. I could easily put McLaggen on as Keeper, but there's no way I'm going to find a halfway decent Chaser before the game next week. And you know what people are going to say."

The rumor Ginny would spread. "That you're the bad guy for getting rid of both of them. Tormenting Ron or some other rubbish." Hermione responded to his heavy sigh by tightening her arms around him. "It'll be worse if you don't and we end up losing."

"I already feel like I lost."

The quiet whisper seemed to echo around the empty dorm room.

This was but a small disruption in a life that had rarely travelled a smooth course. But there was a finality to severing all ties with the boy and girl he'd called family before he had Sirius, and whom he'd relied on in the months since his loss. With each day that passed, Harry's isolation became more pronounced; rumors spread, acquaintances judged them for what they both knew was innocent. But the true story was always the first told. Ron had been a placeholder until Hermione could catch Harry's eye. Ginny had been naive to trust a girl who Rita Skeeter had pegged after one meeting.

Harry might not know what needed to be done, but Hermione was already decided. It was long past time for defensive measures.


	16. Girls Behaving Badly

Every time they looked her way and snickered, Hermione raised her chin higher. By the time the whispers were loud enough to reach her, she'd let her wand slip into her hand, hidden by the sleeve of her jumper. The first Stinging Hex got Lavender in the lip; it immediately swole to three times its normal size. When the girls glanced toward her, Hermione's eyes stayed glued to the Arithmancy book in front of her. Accusations without proof were merely manifestations of their guilt. Parvati's quill seemed to have a mind of its own, writing all manner of inappropriate words across the essay she'd spent two hours penning. And Ginny? She managed to dodge the next two hexes by hiding behind Hermione's roommates, but she'd be hard-pressed to explain the details of the letter a concerned anonymous person had written to Dean.

She felt more than one moment of guilt for sinking to their level. Hermione reasoned that if she continued to settle for feeling the victim while letting the rest of the school believe she was the scheming liar she'd been made out, she may as well let Ginny rewrite their whole history, pretending their friendship had merely been a ruse with Harry as the object. That may well be true for the redhead, given her behavior of late, but Hermione wanted to believe she had more depth. There was very real pain behind the lashing out. And if Hermione didn't show she wasn't going to be pushed around forever, Ginny would push until the victim-fantasy in her head became reality. Hermione would see to it.


	17. Distracted

"I know he's up to something. This is the only way I can think of to prove it."

"I still think it's too dangerous, Harry." She glanced down the table. The distance between them and Ron yawned, as if widened only by the look he gave the pair. Ginny sat across from him wearing a matching expression. Dean merely looked uncomfortable as he tried to get Ginny's attention again. He hadn't read the letter yet, not wanting to put himself in the middle of this war, but thought he knew what the anonymous person said anyway.

Hermione dropped her gaze back to the table; her fingers fell over Harry's fist. "At least wait until after the match."

"Yeah, but what if that's when he's going to make a move? Everyone else will be distracted."

"Possibly," she responded. "But you've been so worried about this match, I doubt you'll be any good to anyone if you give up on that to chase Malfoy by yourself. I'll help you."

"But what if—?"

"He won't get away. I'll help you. With the two of us on his trail, he doesn't have the skill or even dumb luck to do this."

As her last words carried down the table, Ron slammed his empty cup down and stalked into the Entrance Hall. One by one the rest of the Gryffindor team followed, until Harry was left at the table, torn between making a last-ditch effort to smooth things over with Ron before the match started or catch up with Draco before an unknown manner of hell was unleashed. He finally settled on talking to Ron.

When he got to the locker room, Ron still wouldn't speak to him. This was all right. All he had to do was listen.


	18. Performance

The rest of the team chattered in a continuous stream, but all Ron heard were the snide, mocking words from the girl he once—and maybe still—felt something more than friendship for. Not that she deserved it. Not that she appreciated him. Not that she had ever once considered someone could be so intimidated by her that making the first move was akin to walking through the Forbidden Forest wandless. She was a source of frustration and irritation and, hmph, she believed he couldn't defend a hoop worth a damn. Not even with dumb luck on his side. No surprise. She spent so much time helping with his homework she probably didn't believe Ron could wipe his arse without a few minutes of well-meaning instruction.

And Harry bought into every word of that rubbish. From the minute she'd begun whispering in his ear, the wedge that had grown between them was rooted in her intent to have Harry to herself. After all, what better way to help save the Wizarding World than to be the woman behind the man? The voice of reason. The one person he would later say had gave him the insight he needed to beat the darkest wizard the world had ever known.

She was the reason Harry was working himself up to kick Ron off the Quidditch team. It wasn't enough that she tried to influence him everywhere else, but now she was on him about the one thing Ron had left. He knew making Keeper this year had been a close call. And the practices the past few weeks had been more than rough, but the more Ron thought about Hermione's little dig about his lack of skill, the more Ron was determined to prove her wrong.

* * *

When Harry approached him in the locker room, the rest of the team fell silent, not bothering to pretend they weren't interested in the outcome of the conversation. For his part, Ron merely scowled at his former best friend.

"Look, Ron," he began. Ron crossed his arms; his sleeve slid up to expose a healing cut. Harry opened his mouth and stopped. What, precisely, was he apologizing for? Beating on his friend? Not apologizing sooner? Not encouraging Ron to act on his attraction to Hermione before she grew tired of waiting?

"I think, for the sake of the team, it would be best if—"

"I'm not quitting," Ron interrupted. He stood and stepped forward until he and Harry were nearly nose-to-nose. "You'll have enough excuse to get rid of me if we don't win this one and it's my fault, but I'm not quitting and you can't make me, _Captain_."

He stormed out of the locker room. Ginny wasn't far behind. Harry sighed. He had lost count of how many times he and Ron seemed to be having two different conversations.  


* * *

  
Hermione had no reaction as she watched Ron kiss Lavender as if his life depended on it. She wasn't impressed. Or offended. Or wishing she was in the other girl's place. She was numb. And when she was alone, she was crying, with no idea of the reason why or how to stop this hollow place inside her from aching when she only wanted it all to stop. When Harry came to her and she turned to cry on his shoulder, she began to think of some imagined insult to claim had come from Ron or Ginny. He would more readily accept this continued pain as external. Perhaps, in time, the lie would become truth, and as easily dismissed. 


	19. Complicated

"That's not what this is."

"Well then, what is it Hermione?" She reached for him. Harry shook off her hand and took a step back. "If you don't still have feelings for him, then what is it?"

"I can't explain—"

"You can explain anything," Harry said. "Either he did something this time or..."

Or she was silly. Stupid. Asking for trouble. Any of those explanations would do nothing to assuage the confusion and hurt Harry was currently feeling and, unfortunately, all fell short of exactly what she was feeling. How was she supposed to explain it when the nameless emotions were disabling her ability to think coherently?

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "But I can tell you, I don't still want...to be with him. I only want to be with you."

His shoulders relaxed slightly. It was small, but it was something. He didn't pull away when she touched his hand this time.

What she couldn't tell him was why Ron was still able to get a reaction from her. If this would continue for weeks or months or forever. If her unresolved feelings would outlast what they had found in each other. She could only hope Harry would not take every tear as a personal insult. Hermione, for her part, hoped that whatever self-destructive part of her still yearned for a connection with Ron would retreat to a far corner of her mind, not to be heard from again until she was strong enough to hide it.


	20. Healing Arts

There were some things Hermione had promised herself she'd never do. She would never cheat on an assignment. She would never pretend to be someone she wasn't just to please another person. And she would never sell herself short for any reason. For some reason, this felt like a horrid combination of the three.

When he touched her, she tried to not be afraid of what he would expect, what he might demand in the way of her cooperation. Muddled feelings aside, she enjoyed what they did together, though they could count the number of times they performed the act on one hand. Harry intended to change that fact tonight.

Somewhere between the first soft stroke of his fingers down her bare back and the third time she gasped for air, she forgot all about what's-his-name and that thing she was irrationally bothered by. When her clothes were straightened and she made her way across the common room, the spectacle in the corner had been reduced to a minor irritation. In time, even that feeling would disappear.


	21. Desperate

The first time she said the words, it was merely annoying. He brushed it off as easily as her attempts to get him into a conversation outside of class. Then she said it again, persistent this time, as if squeezing his hand and saying it in that urgent whisper would inspire the urge in him to say it back with just as much forced passion. The third time, Ron was caught off guard. She'd been on his lap for an hour, promising a hell of lot more than they could get away with in the common room and he may have mumbled something back when she asked if he felt the same. He wasn't sure of anything at that point except that a head of bushy hair ducked down and came back up quickly, the face impassive. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners. She was laughing at them, at him.

Ron frowned. Before he could let Hermione's amusement get under his skin, Lavender distracted him again. It was just as well. He was done worrying about her.


End file.
